Not all saints are beatified

Angelo Trivelli (above, at the piano), who died in Washington, D.C. on Christmas day last year at the age of 88, was called a "man of miracles" by Sister Ursula Marie Anselmo of the Sisters of Notre Dame because of his inborn gift for fixing anything that was broken.

Wrote Patricia Sullivan of the Washington Post in a January 8 obituary, "Dishwasher, stove, concrete step, toy, furniture, automobile, knickknack — you name it, he would fix it, his family said."

His day job was with the federal government but "he also had a second unpaid job, as the on–call fix–it man for Christ the King Catholic Church and Sisters of the Holy Names, both in Silver Spring [Maryland]."

Sullivan wrote, "Sister Mary Ann Farrington of Sisters of the Holy Names said he often sent her up a ladder in the unlighted, unheated convent garage to look for a piece of scrap wood. Why buy something new when something used would do, he reasoned. When she would complain during the search that she was freezing, Trivelli's typical response would be, 'Think hot.'"

Here's his obituary in full.

His Expert Handicraft Made Him a 'Man of Miracles'

Give Angelo Trivelli a broken anything, and he could fix it.

Dishwasher, stove, concrete step, toy, furniture, automobile, knickknack -- you name it, he would fix it, his family said. Everyone called on him "to fix it, to paint it, to patch it," said his eldest daughter, Carmela Thornes.

"I call him a man of miracles," said his sister-in-law, Sister Ursula Marie Anselmo of the Sisters of Notre Dame.

Trivelli died Dec. 25, two days after his 88th birthday, of chronic obstructive pulmonary disease at his home.

Born in Larino, Italy, he immigrated to the United States as a young boy and was educated in Washington's public schools.

He still had the final project from his shop class, a beautifully rendered miniature desk with inlaid wood, curved back and small drawers that still open and close smoothly.

He built his D.C. home, a hammer's throw from the northernmost tip of the District's diamond-shaped boundary, largely by himself while working full-time federal government jobs.

He also had a second unpaid job, as the on-call fix-it man for Christ the King Catholic Church and Sisters of the Holy Names, both in Silver Spring.

That was in addition to his willingness to help a blind neighbor, a widowed neighbor, his five children and the federal judges for whom he worked, even in his time off.

In the late 1970s, when prisoners staged a break from the holding cell at the D.C. courthouse downtown, the guards on duty knew that some escapees were in the air ducts but either could not find or could not read the blueprints that would show where the inmates might emerge.

The judge on duty ordered the guards, "Call Angelo at home," and sent a police car to pick him up.

Trivelli, of course, knew the building plans and advised the guards where to wait for the escapees.

Sister Mary Ann Farrington of Sisters of the Holy Names said he often sent her up a ladder in the unlighted, unheated convent garage to look for just the right piece of scrap wood.

Why buy something new when something used would do, he reasoned.

When she would complain during the search that she was freezing, Trivelli's typical response would be, "Think hot."

That's not to say he immediately solved every puzzle, but daughter Lucy Vitaliti said he was tenacious.

"He'd look at it one way, then another way until he figured it out," she said.

A cabinetmaker by trade, he was a genius at the mechanical arts as well.

His cluttered basement workshop is filled with C-clamps, saws, paints and brushes, coils of electrical cord, pipes and, of course, wood.

He was always busy, and if things didn't need to be fixed, they needed to be created -- from holiday decorations to gadgets to help someone turn over a bedridden disabled relative.

His son Edward, who followed in his father's footsteps and became a contractor, said his father's lack of a college education occasionally cost him recognition and advancement.

He trained a number of men who were promoted over him.

"But he would never challenge authority, because it was authority," his son said.

"He was by the book."

And he never asked of others what he himself would not or could not do.

The son, while in high school, took a peek at his father's school tests and found the old man had received straight A's.

Trivelli served in the Army during World War II, fighting in the Battle of the Bulge and visiting Hitler's seized retreat, the Eagle's Nest, near Obersalzberg, Germany.

He took snapshots and, when he built his own home, used the idea of a step-down living room and a bay window that he first saw there.

He was not a man who attended church every Sunday, but he never missed Mass on the major holidays.

It could be argued that his work was his worship; the nuns so appreciated his assistance that they gave him a blessed statue of Christ the King for his church and attached a plaque thanking him.

Trivelli was not solely a man of his hands.

He played musical instruments, read the newspaper cover to cover, threw parties and would insist that his children join him in appreciation of a beautiful sunset.

"He had a contemplative side," Farrington said. "He loved opera and architecture. He really loved beauty in all its forms."